


Death and the Watcher

by merry_magpie



Category: Angel: the Series, Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crack, Crossover, F/M, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-13
Updated: 2010-08-13
Packaged: 2017-10-11 02:06:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merry_magpie/pseuds/merry_magpie





	Death and the Watcher

HELLO.

Wesley blinked a few times. He felt the ground underneath his back, but it was no longer cold or hard like it had been when he was dying.

EXCUSE ME.

Wesley half sat up, leaning on his arm and looked up into the face of a grim looking girl. She appeared younger than him, maybe as old as Fred. He pushed that train of thoughts to the side with a gentle shove; instead, he tried to focus on the girl in front of him. She held a scythe in one hand and dressed like either a Goth given to extremes or the Medieval European personification of Death. The hood was hanging away from her face and her hand was on her hip. She looked impatient. "You're Death?" He asked.

CLOSE ENOUGH.

He let out a rueful laugh. "Here to whisk me to hell?"

THAT'S NOT MY JOB, AND WHY? She stopped and coughed a little. "And why would you go to Hell? You died trying to save your world from a pan-dimensional evil conglomerate bent on spreading pain and destruction."

"I'm sure it's all written down in your book." He pointed to a large leather bound volume she had tied to her waist. On it, embossed in slim gold letters, were the words "The Life and Times of Wesley Wnydam-Pryce." "I've killed people, I've hurt people, my friends. I've betrayed people I loved."

She gave him a look that reminded him of a nanny he'd had as a child. There was a certain set to the eyes that said, "whatever foolishness you're thinking, you need to stop, right now, before I get mad." Out loud she said, "Stop feeling sorry for yourself."

Wesley stood up. She was much shorter from this angle and he realized that she had her hair pulled back in a bun, but it gave the impression it was straining to be released from it's bindings. "I am most certainly not feeling sorry for myself." He said.

She gave him a look more unyielding than the one that preceded it. It could be more appropriately called a Look, or even The Look. It surpassed descriptors like stern or disappointed, and made you wish the person giving you The Look would kindly glance away while you wet yourself. He had, however, faced whole armies of vampires and demons, not to mention his Father, and he wasn't going to let this young-looking Death dissuade him. "I'm rather sure I belong in Hell."

Susan's eyes seemed to narrow down to pinpoints, concentrating the gray of her eyes until they glowed almost blue. I AM DOING THIS FOR YOUR OWN GOOD. Wesley felt himself lifted up by strong, impossibly bony hands. Suddenly, he was on a large white horse. HIS NAME IS BINKY.

He wasn't sure exactly what was expected of him at this point but Death seemed to be giving him the slightly less terrifying nanny-glare again and he patted the flank of the horse. "Hello, Binky." While petting the horse he looked down beneath them and realized they were flying through the air. Without thinking he wrapped his arms around Death. It wasn't until he felt her warm body through the robes that he remembered he was dead and falling from the horse would be no more damaging than sitting on top of it.

AHEM, he heard her say to him. LET'S TRY TO MAINTAIN SOMETHING OF A PROFESSIONAL RELATIONSHIP, PLEASE? He pulled his hands away from her waist and let them fall to the side.

The horse, Binky, stopped on the rough gravel of a rooftop, from the skyline Wesley could tell they were still in L.A., near the Hyperion. Death seemed to become almost skeletal as she pointed down from the rooftop. He saw Illyria standing in the early morning sun as mist and dust swirled around her feet. Some ways down the alley he saw the slumped form of Gunn, the ashy color of the skin told Wesley enough. He didn't see evidence of Angel or Spike in the shadows of the alleyway. His throat constricted and he felt like he was choking. He had depended on dying tonight, but he hadn't really expected the others to die. "Why are you showing this to me? Is this my hell?"

I HAVE ALREADY VISITED THE OTHERS TONIGHT. NONE OF THEM CHOSE A PLACE OF ETERNAL TORMENT, NOT EVEN THE TWO VAMPRIES. "Who really are arguably more than deserving." I MEAN, WHO ARE DRENCHED IN PAST SINS MUCH GREATER THAN YOURS.

Wesley continued to stare at the alleyway. All his friends were dead. "Where did they go?"

I DON'T SEND THEM TO THEIR FINAL ETERNITY. BESIDES, I DIDN'T PAY MUCH ATTENTION.

"Just enough to know that they didn't go to Hell?"

EXACTLY.

"Why, then, if this isn't your job, do you care so much about where I end up?"

Death seemed to blush a little at this. With the bit of red in her cheeks she looked a little more human. "Grandfather asked me to help him while I was visiting on holiday." She paused during her explanation to scowl slightly. "He gave me this job and started talking about finding myself a nice young man."

Wesley stared at Death for a few moments. "I'm not really sure which I find more astounding, that Death has a grandfather."

"Granddaughter, he has a granddaughter. I'm Susan."

"Granddaughter," he corrected. "Or, that he's trying to set her up with me."

"He said you had your head on straight, mostly, and had decent resume. That's better than he gives most humans."

"But I'm dead, I think that takes me out of the dating pool, don't you?"

"Well, see, you're not actually dead. It's more like you've passed out from blood loss and would be dead if someone," Wesley assumed she was trying to look innocent at this point, but the affect was ruined by the scythe, "hadn't placed a call."

Wesley sat down on the ledge of the rooftop. He wasn't dead, but all of his friends were. And Death's granddaughter was, if he was reading the situation correctly, asking him out on a date. A part of his mind decided that now would be a good time to take a small vacation - he'd heard Egypt was nice this time of year - the rest of it came up with a question. "Then what was all that about me being dead earlier, at Vail's?"

"You were assuming you were dead. I was going to correct you but then you mentioned Hell and I was curious why someone, who is one of their world's biggest heroes, would think he deserves to go to hell. It seems silly to me."

Wesley was about to open his mouth when he felt something hit his chest. It was like being hit by lightening and sucked down the drain at the same time. He thought he saw Susan say something to him but he couldn't hear her; he tried to see what was on his chest but his vision was shadowy. He did realize, however, that he was lying down again. His head reeled from the sudden vertigo. Changing perspectives, from vertical to horizontal, without the transitional part between the two was not something the human mind dealt with well. He thought he saw a man kneeling over him with paddles in his hands, but he wasn't sure. After that everything faded to black.

The first thing he noticed when he woke up was the smell. He'd been here enough to know the smell of a hospital anywhere. The second thing he noticed was the floating, happy feeling he had. He knew that all his friends were gone and that he was still tied to Wolfram and Hart but, with the morphine, he didn't care. The third thing he noticed was Susan and her horse, Binky, in the corner of the room. There was a horse in a hospital room. Regardless that he knew this was logically impossible - hospital lifts were large, but not that large and surely someone would notice – his reaction was dulled by the morphine and all he could do was loll his head a bit and smile.

"It's nice to see you're awake." It was politeness for politeness sake, but it was still good to have someone, who seemed to care, there for him when he woke up in a hospital bed. "Now, about that date." She said.

"Whargh?" With the drugs, it was about all he was able to say at the moment. He hated it when language failed him.

"It was all my Grandfather's idea. Thinks he's good at setting humans up with each other. He's sure since he was right once, he'll always be right."

Wesley rolled his head in what passed for a nod, for lack of ability to do anything else.

"But he doesn't realize that I'm happy where I am. I'm a good teacher; the children love me; the parents are terrified of me; I like what I do. Dating right now, especially trans-dimensionally, would be more hassle than it's worth."

Wesley thought he recognized where this was leading.

"You seem like a really nice young man. A bit heroic for my taste, but Grandfather can have lofty ideals. I just don't think it would work out for us."

Wesley tried to look forlorn through the morphine, which, really, was harder than one would think. "Whargh."

"Yes, I thought you'd understand. You seem to be able to deal with reality." She paused and looked at The Life and Times of Wesley Wnydam-Pryce hanging from her hip. "Well, most of the time."

She mounted Binky. "I told Grandfather. He was a bit disappointed, but said I should do something to make it up to you." She took out a scroll from the folds of her cloak. "I took your contract at Wolfram and Hart and had some lawyers specializing in magical agreements look it over in Ankh-Morpork. Seemed there were a few holes worth exploiting. They said there are ways to get out of it, if you'd like, and protect you from any further harassment from the firm. It's a steady job, I realize, but not quite worth the price."

Wesley swayed his head vigorously.

"Good, I'll just let them know and we'll start the process." She maneuvered the horse around, somehow, in the room and started to ride through the wall. Looking back over her shoulder she called after him, eyes glowing bluely. UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN, WESLEY.


End file.
